She let go of the kitten and grasped the hot drink eagerly.
'Christ, it's hot,' she burst out and licked the corners of her mouth with her pointy, pink tongue. 'But it's delicious, Alvar, it really is.'
He sat down again, touched by hearing the sound of his own name. He rarely heard his name spoken by others and he was filled with conflicting thoughts. Now she was stroking the kitten with her left hand and holding the mug in her right.
'You're probably thinking that I've made a right mess of my life,' she said in between gulps of cocoa.
He could not think of anything to say in reply, so he raised his eyebrows instead, as a sign that she could go on.
'On drugs, shooting heroin. Unemployed, battered and miserable. You probably think I'm the lowest of the low. A pathetic, broken creature who doesn't deserve to live in a welfare state.'
Alvar gave her a startled look. 'No,' he practically cried out, 'I've never ever thought that!'
'You haven't?' She looked at him sharply and narrowed her healthy eye.
'I don't know much about these things,' he said reluctantly, 'but you probably haven't had an easy life.'
His reply caused her to look serious.
'No,' she said in a tired voice, 'I haven't had an easy life. My mum was always ill, she spent most of her time in bed and my dad travelled the world selling ankle socks which don't cut off your blood supply when you wear them.'
Alvar, who had been studying his hands, looked up.
'So you were on your own a lot of the time,' he said softly.
'Practically all the time,' she said. 'And whenever she did get out of bed she would sit in a chair shaking like a rag doll because of her phobia. Have you ever seen phobia close up? It looks like someone's being electrocuted. She took a lot of pills, not that they seemed to do her any good. The curtains in our house were always drawn because she was scared of the light. She was scared whenever someone rang our doorbell, she was afraid of the telephone. We never had any visitors, she was scared of people. I could never bring any friends round.'
'But,' said Alvar, shaken to his core, 'when your father came home, what happened then?'
'Then he would drink,' she said simply. 'Binge drinking two to three weeks at a time. He would turn into someone I couldn't recognise. I had to cook my own meals, no one ever helped me with my homework. When my mum took an overdose, my dad got so scared he left the country. And I was taken into care.'
Alvar leaned forward a little to show his sympathy.
'What was it like there? Were they nice to you?'
She smiled an acid smile.
'Sometimes,' she said and suddenly became indifferent.
Alvar did not understand.
'Either they were nice to you or they weren't.'
'It was too late,' she said, 'I was fifteen years old by then. The damage had already been done.'
Damaged, Alvar thought, broken like the severed bridge. A strange feeling of solidarity filled his heart. Here he was talking to a total stranger, and yes, they were having a real conversation. He suddenly thought he was observing the scene in his own living room from a distance. A skinny girl with a mug of cocoa and a kitten on her lap. He in an armchair, the adult, being supportive. Peace and mutual understanding. Snow melting outside.
'But,' he said, suddenly feeling very reckless, 'surely you could get help somewhere? Couldn't you ask to go into rehab?'
She looked at him with mild reproach.
'And lose the only thing that gets me through the day? I wouldn't dream of it. It might sound crazy to you, but this is how I want it, I don't want to be on this merry-go-round any more. It's riddled with ghosts.'
Alvar recalled the painting and nodded.
'But,' he said, raising his voice because he was beginning to engage deeply, 'you're so young. You might get a job one day, and a flat and a kitten. Wouldn't that be something?'
At that she smiled broadly. 'But I've already got that,' she said, nodding down at the kitten. Alvar started to feel dizzy. He got up from his chair, he felt in urgent need of a large sherry. Did she want to join him?
She shook her head adamantly.
'Growing up with a drunk teaches you to stay clear of alcohol, if nothing else,' she said, sipping her cocoa demonstratively.
This made complete sense, Alvar thought, even though her argument seemed somewhat flawed given that she had substituted alcohol with heroin. But he said nothing. He fetched the bottle from the cupboard and poured himself a large glass. Fell back into his armchair and tasted the golden liquid.
'You're very tidy,' she said, watching him.
He clutched his glass.
'Yes,' he conceded after a long pause, 'I like to know where everything is.'
'Or you'll start to fret?' she teased him, scrutinising him from head to toe.
He shrugged and put the glass on the table.
'That's who I am,' he said simply. 'I can't stand mess. It makes it impossible to find anything.'
She laughed and threw back her head. 'So what are you looking for then?' she said, her voice filled with laughter. 'We're all set on the same path, the one that leads to death. Just in case you didn't know that.'
That irked him. He did not like that she was talking about death, nor did he feel that he was on the same path as her.
'I'm just talking rubbish,' she consoled him. 'My life's chaotic. Getting high, getting beaten up, desperation and strange disgusting men, that's all I have. I bet you have a lot that I'll never have. A well-paid job. Family and friends.'
Alvar looked down. He had none of those things.
'Is it all right if I take a shower?' she asked.
Alvar jumped again. 'I suppose so,' he said.
'I feel so filthy and grimy,' she explained, 'and it's not often I get the chance because I don't have a shower in my room.'
He nodded again. Once more he felt that she was devouring him, but, having given her cocoa, offered her sherry and a bed for the night, it felt impossible to deny her a shower. She leapt out of the sofa and placed the kitten on his lap.
'I know where it is,' she called out and made a beeline for the bathroom. Again he sat there with his heart in his throat. He could feel his cheeks burning. A woman would be standing behind a thin wall with no clothes on. The water would wash over her. The same room where he carefully washed and got himself ready every morning and evening. Her smell, her hair in the plughole. He gulped down more sherry, he could think of no other solution.
At eleven he switched on the TV to watch the late-night news. Lindys was lying on the sofa, her hair was damp. The kitten had snuggled up to her chest and had fallen asleep. She was not interested in the news, she lay calmly with her eyes closed. Her swollen eye worried him, but it did not seem to bother her. Alvar was halfway through his second sherry. Human beings can cope with far more than we think, he decided, as a mild level of intoxication reached his head. There's a woman lying on my sofa and I haven't panicked. I'm taking it all in my stride, I'm a self-assured man. After a while he could see that she was asleep. She had neither a pillow nor a blanket, so he got up and went to a cupboard in the hallway where he kept a pure wool Berger blanket. He returned to the sofa. Stood there for a moment watching her. Her blonde, almost white hair had fallen over her cheek where the skin was stretched tightly over her cheekbones. The swollen eye looked truly nasty. He could not understand how anyone could have the heart to hurt such a defenceless girl. His initial thought had been to spread the blanket over her, but it seemed such an intimate gesture that he did not dare. Instead he laid the blanket over her feet. Perhaps she might wake up during the night and pull it all the way up. What would tomorrow bring? he wondered. What might she get up to while he slept? Could he trust her? No, Ole Krantz would have said, you can't trust people like that. Get rid of them, Alvar, get rid of them! He switched off the light, turned off the TV and went to the bathroom. He remembered that he had forgotten to provide her with a clean towel, so she had used his. He noticed black stains from her eye make-up, too. He took a clean towel from the linen cupboard, brushed his teeth and washed his hands. Left the bathroom light on and the door ajar, so she could find her way in the dark in case she woke up during the night. Then he quickly went out into the hall to retrieve his wallet from his coat pocket. He brought it into his bedroom and placed it in the drawer of his bedside table, and this small precaution felt like a nasty sting.